Contentment
by labeorohetha
Summary: Sam is sick. Dean thinks about how much he's missed having Sam around. All the good feels :)


Hey, everyone! This is my first attempt at writing any kind of fanfiction. I was nostalgic for the boys, back when they were young and remembered how to smile. The scene kinda popped into my head, and I couldn't help the idea of Dean being all sunny and babying Sam, like the good old days :) I had to write.

 **Setting:** A year after they left Stanford.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters. As much as I want to. All credit to CW/Kripke.

Do let me know what you think.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Fug off."

Dean stifled a chuckle.

"Go to bed, Sammy. Staring at a screen isn't going to do your headache any good."

"I'b fide."

Dean couldn't help it this time. He snortled, much to Sam's dismay.

"I'b glad this bakes you so happy."

As much as Dean didn't want to admit it, it _did_ make him happy.

Not that Sam was sick.

But that he was taking care of him after so long.

Taking care of Sam was his calling.

A wave of nostalgia washed over Dean. He remembered every single night he'd spent by Sam's bedside, in some or the other run down truck-stop motel, their dad on a hunt as always. Sam would wake up, feverish and sweaty, crying for Dean. Dean's heart would clench at the sight of his little brother, but his chest still swelled at the fact that Sam wanted him and only him to soothe his fevered brow.

 _Gosh, Dean had missed the_ _kid._

He settled comfortably into the couch, next to Sam in his blanket burrito.  
Mindlessly flicking through the channels, Dean let his thoughts wander.

Things were actually going pretty good.  
It felt weird to Dean after everything.

Four years of hell.  
Four years of not knowing what Sammy was upto.

The thought of Sam living his best life, his dream had done little to help the gut-wrenching ache that accompanied the realization that _Sam had left him.  
_ Leaving Dad and the lifestyle, that he could understand.

But he'd left _D_ _ean_.

And Dean wasn't going to forget that.  
He had, however, forgiven him for it.

The second Sam crumpled into Dean's chest in the motel room the night of the fire at Stanford, shaking with huge, gulping sobs, looking to his big brother for solace in the wake of Jess' death, Dean had forgiven him, _goddamn it._

Sam was better now.  
The hole Jess left will never be fixed, no, but the edges weren't as jagged anymore.  
Sam was a tough cookie, _a Winchester,_ after all. He'd be okay.

Dean felt a pang of guilt. Sam had lost everything he'd ever wanted.

Law School.  
Jessica Moore.  
Two kids, a dog, and a white picket fence.

He'd lost it all in one night.  
And in that same night, Dean had gained everything.

Dean didn't know how to feel about it. He'd think about it another day.  
He would make Yellow Eyes pay, though, he was sure of that.

For now, Dean Winchester was grateful. Grateful to be doing what they'd always done. _Together_.

 _Saving people, hunting things. The family business._

Sam coughed, a wheezy, rattling cough, jolting Dean out of his reverie.  
Reaching over, Dean pushed his sweaty curls out of the way and pressed his hand to Sam's forehead.  
"You're still so warm."  
"Mmph."  
Sam ever-so-slightly leaned into his touch and Dean's heart was full again.

Grateful to be Sammy's big brother again.  
 _So fucking grateful._

Smiling like an idiot, he got up to get his little brother some acetaminophen. Sam sneezed. Sam was adorable. Dean's grin widened.  
"Sdop id," Sam whined. "Sdop laughing ad be."  
"You're being a little bitch," Dean teased.  
"Jerk."

Opening up the soup from the 24-hour diner, Dean hoped the soup would make Sam feel as warm and fuzzy inside as he did.  
"Deab?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Could we get real tissues idstead of paper towels? My dose hurts."

They were running a little short on funds and Dean hadn't seen any places in town to hustle any, but Dean would happily give up a cheeseburger or two if it meant he could afford to make Sam a little more comfortable.

* * *

Two mornings later, Dean woke up sniffling, the niggling pressure in his head letting him know he'd caught Sammy's bug.

It was, arguably, a _little_ harder to smile now...

Dean still beamed.


End file.
